Sheer Mischief

by Jill Mansell

  “Alan will be home any minute now,” she said, fishing in her pocket for the front-door key. “If you’d like to stay for lunch, you’re very welcome. Or is Guy expecting you back?”

  “Special dispensation,” Maxine replied with an unnecessary glance at her watch. She had already arranged to meet Bruno at the Dune Bar at twelve thirty. Somehow a cozy foursome didn’t seem appropriate. “Guy’s given me the afternoon off. He’s taking the kids over to Mimi Margason’s house for lunch. She’s the woman whose party you went to, isn’t she? I’ve never met her, but she sounds wild.”

  “She is.” Janey wondered if she would ever see Mimi again. She had the uncomfortable feeling that bridges were being burned. Unless they came into the shop, she might never even see Guy and the children again either. “She’s outrageous. And very, very nice.”

  “Ah. Well, in that case, I probably wouldn’t like her,” Maxine replied. “As I said, nice people make me nervous. Apart from you,” she added cheerfully. “Sisters don’t count.”

  “So will you stay for lunch?”

  “I can’t.” By this time they had reached the shop. Taking a step forward, Maxine kissed Janey’s cold cheek. “I’m seeing Bruno. It’s a bit of an awkward situation, isn’t it?”

  “It’s certainly unusual.” Janey smiled. “I daresay we’ll get used to it.”

  “We’re both happy,” said Maxine, wishing she didn’t feel so guilty. “We’ve both got the men we really and truly want. There’s only one thing left to do now to round it off.”

  “What’s that?”

  Maxine grinned. “Find some poor long-suffering female for Guy.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Bruno evidently didn’t believe in wasting time. Maxine, only a few minutes late, arrived at the Dune Bar to find him deep in conversation with an extremely pretty brunette, pouring her a glass of Chardonnay with one hand and jangling two sets of keys in the other.

  “And about time too,” he complained when Maxine joined them. “I don’t think you know Pearl, do you? I’ve just been telling her how madly in love with you I am, and how you’ve changed my life forever. Think what an idiot I’d have looked if you hadn’t turned up.”

  “He’s definitely a changed man,” Pearl declared, eyeing Maxine with undisguised curiosity. “I only came over to invite him to a party tomorrow night, and he hasn’t stopped talking about you for the last twenty minutes. He won’t even come to the party.”

  Bruno, eyes glittering with amusement, slid his arm around Maxine’s waist. “I’d only get chatted up by women with designs on my body,” he complained. “There’s only one woman in my life from now on. Who needs parties when we have each other?”

  “Boring old fart,” said Maxine, helping herself to wine. “I like parties. If I was invited to one, I’d go.”

  “You can both come.” Pearl scribbled the address on the back of a coaster. Grinning at Maxine, who evidently met with her approval, she said, “It’ll be fun.”

  Bruno had picked up the coaster. Maxine promptly whisked it from his grasp.

  “I’ll definitely be there, but Bruno might not,” she said smoothly. “He doesn’t need parties anymore, you see. He’d only get chatted up by women with designs on his body.”

  “Thanks,” said Bruno when Pearl had left.

  “What’s the problem?” Maxine demanded. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist a bit of temptation?”

  “Look, we both know you aren’t going to any party tomorrow night. Guy’s away and you’re looking after the kids. I only said no because I didn’t think you’d want me to go on my own,” he said with a trace of exasperation. “I thought you wouldn’t trust me.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Maxine countered. “Trot along to the nearest hospital and ask to be surgically joined at the hip? Sweetheart, we’re just going to have to learn to trust each other. I’m not going to try and stop you doing anything you want to do, and you’re certainly not going to stop me. You can chat up Michelle Pfeiffer if you like. All you have to remember is that if I ever find out you’ve been unfaithful to me, it’s over.” With her index finger, she drew a swift, clean line across his throat. “Finito. Kaput. Down the drain.”

  Bruno kissed her. “I love you.”

  “Hmm.” People were staring, but Maxine didn’t care. “Just as well. We’re going to be gossiped about from here to Land’s End.”

  He picked up one of the sets of keys and dangled them in front of her. “In that case, let’s really give them something to gossip about. Here, take them. Don showed me around a few properties this morning. I’m now the proud tenant of Mole Cottage.”

  “You don’t waste much time,” said Maxine admiringly. “Is it nice?”

  “Nice?” Bruno launched into brochure-speak. “Mole Cottage is an eminently desirable seventeenth-century residence complete with stunning sea view, two charming bedrooms, spacious shower, and delightful beamed ceilings throughout. The living room’s actually smaller than the shower cubicle, the wallpaper is unspeakable, and the garden’s buried beneath six feet of weeds,” he added with a rueful shrug, “but if we can ignore the decor, we’ll survive. At least it was dirt cheap.”

  Maxine took the keys. “I suppose these are the modern-day equivalent of a diamond ring.”

  “You’ve done the diamond-ring bit before. You can’t keep getting engaged; it’s tacky.” Bruno grinned. “Besides, I’m nouveau pauvre. As from today, a key ring’s about as much as I can afford.”

  It was Maxine’s turn to kiss him. “I don’t care. When are you going to move in?”

  “As soon as you finish your drink. My suitcases are in the car.”

  She experienced another spasm of guilt. “How was Nina?”

  “Fine.” Bruno drained his glass. “Absolutely fine. She even helped me pack.”

  Frowning slightly, Maxine twisted the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Wasn’t she even a little bit upset?”

  “No.” He had privately come to the conclusion that Nina felt he was in the grip of a wild passion that would be out of his system by Christmas. It wouldn’t, of course, but it had certainly made leaving a whole lot easier. “She takes things in her stride. There’s only one major drawback to my leaving, as far as Nina’s concerned.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Bruno’s Restaurant.” He pulled a face. “She spoke to the new chef this morning, and he says if he’s going to take full charge, it should be named after him.”

  “What’s he called?” said Maxine.

  Bruno broke into a grin. “Wayne.”

  • • •

  “I’m late, I’m sorry.” Alan, bursting through the door at ten past one, gave Janey an enormous, conciliatory hug. “I lost all track of time. All the old crowd were there. You can’t imagine how much catching up we had to do.”

  And you can’t imagine how terribly afraid I’ve been, thought Janey, willing herself to stay calm. Punctuality had never been one of Alan’s strong points, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t suffered agonies of uncertainty as each minute had ticked by. She wondered if she would ever truly be able to relax and overcome the fear that each time he left the house she might never see him again.

  But that was something she was just going to have to come to terms with, she told herself firmly. Shrieking like a fishwife wouldn’t solve anything, and whining on about how worried she’d been would only burden him with guilt.

  “Don’t worry. I expected you to be late.” With a casual gesture, she wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “They’re your friends. You must have had lots to talk about.”

  “It was still thoughtless of me.” He stroked her blond, just-washed hair. “But you really don’t have to worry, sweetheart. I’m not going to disappear into thin air again. This time I’m here for good.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  “And to mak
e up for being late home, I’m cooking lunch.” He began to roll up the sleeves of his denim shirt in businesslike fashion. “You can put your feet up and relax. I’ll do everything myself.”

  Janey started to laugh, because the smell of lamb roasting in the oven permeated the entire flat. “It’s all done,” she said, recalling how often in the past they had gone through this routine.

  True to form, Alan looked appalled. “All of it? Roast potatoes, onion sauce, all the vegetables?”

  She nodded, brown eyes sparkling. “Afraid so.”

  “Oh well. In that case…” Alan took her hand and pulled her gently in the direction of the bedroom. “Maybe we should both put our feet up.”

  Janey raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And relax?”

  “Hmm.” Sliding his arm around her waist beneath the fleecy lilac sweatshirt she wore, he edged toward the zip on her jeans. “Maybe we’ll leave the relaxing until later…”

  • • •

  “Oh shit.” With a groan, Janey ducked away from the window. “I don’t believe it. Oh hell!”

  “Who is it?” Alan demanded irritably as she wriggled across the bed and made a grab for her yellow-and-white terry-cloth robe. Whoever it was, they certainly had a lethal sense of timing.

  “Quick, get some clothes on,” hissed Janey. “It’s my mother.”

  Thea Vaughan was proud of the way she had brought up her children, teaching them to be independent from an early age, allowing them to make their own decisions, and never saying “I told you so” when those decisions turned out to be mistakes. But enough was enough. This time, Janey had gone too far. And no mother, she felt, could be expected to sit back and watch her daughter make a mistake quite as monumental as the one Janey was making now.

  “Mum.” Flushed and disheveled, Janey opened the front door. “What a surprise! You usually phone.”

  “What a coincidence,” mimicked Thea briskly. “So do you. When you have something to tell me, that is,” she added in meaningful tones. “Some small item of news you think I might be interested in hearing.”

  Janey had known it wouldn’t be easy. Thea was clearly on the warpath, outraged at having been left out and determined to make a monumental drama out of the event. It was precisely why she hadn’t made more than a token effort to contact her mother in the first place.

  “I did try to phone you,” she insisted. “Yesterday. There was no reply.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” retorted Thea, her crimson cape billowing out as she stomped up the stairs. “I was out of the house for less than fifteen minutes. No doubt you were too busy to try again,” she continued scathingly. “Which is why I have to hear the news from that nosy baggage Elsie Ellis, who from the sound of it has spent the last couple of days with her ears pinned against your adjoining wall. I daresay she’s also been broadcasting the news of your husband’s return to everyone who has set foot inside that bakery of hers. Personally, I’m amazed she hasn’t stood on the steps of the bloody town hall with a megaphone.”

  “Look, I’m sorry.” Janey’s heart was pounding uncomfortably against her ribs. This was even worse than the time Maxine and the cricketers had turned up out of the blue, catching her with Bruno. “But I don’t understand why you’re so angry that Alan’s back. Aren’t you at least happy for me?”

  “My God, you are naive.” It came out as a snort of derision. “And I thought I was stupid, marrying your father! At least I had the guts to get out of the marriage before he ruined my entire life.”

  “It isn’t the same thing.” Outraged by the accusation, Janey’s voice rose. “That was completely different! You told us yourself he had nonstop affairs. Alan didn’t do that. My father made you miserable for years. You can’t possibly compare your marriage with mine. It’s all very well for you to come storming over here with your mind already made up, but you don’t even know why he left.”

  She cringed as Thea reached the top of the stairs and flung open the door to the flat. If Alan had decided to hide in the bedroom, her mother’s scorn would know no bounds.

  But he was there, pouring Chablis into glasses and—thank heavens—standing his ground.

  “Don’t be angry with Thea,” he said calmly, evidently having overheard the furious exchange on the stairs. “She has your best interests at heart. I’ve turned off the oven, by the way. Why don’t we sit down and discuss this whole thing in a rational manner?”

  It was what Alan was best at. Janey, drinking far too much wine far too quickly, said nothing and allowed him to get on with it.

  Thea, however, remained stonily unimpressed. “Such a touching tale,” she remarked, her expression sardonic, the light of battle in her brown eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t break down in tears, but I’m less of a soft touch than my daughter.”

  Alan shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know how you must feel. But it happens to be the truth.”

  “Balls,” said Thea.

  Janey winced. “Mum!”

  “Oh, grow up!” her mother snapped. “I’ve never heard such codswallop in all my life. If he’d had the guts to say he ran off with another woman I could almost forgive him, but this…this complete and utter claptrap is just despicable. Janey, he’s making a fool of you, and I’m not going to let it carry on.”

  “I can’t help what you think,” said Alan, reaching for Janey’s hand and squeezing it. With a sorrowful shake of his head, he met Thea’s withering gaze. “And there’s no way in the world I can ever prove it, but there was no other woman. That’s the absolute truth, and Janey believes me. Maybe in time you’ll come to believe it too. I certainly hope you will, for Janey’s sake if not for mine, but—”

  “But nothing!” declared Thea with venom. “Do I look as if I have a mental age of six? You’re a liar and a cheat, and you all but wrecked my daughter’s life. If you think I’m going to stand by and let you do it again, my lad, you most certainly have another think coming.”

  “Right, that’s enough,” Janey shouted. Red-faced, she leaped to her feet, narrowly avoiding the coffee table, and wrenched open the living-room door. “You’re treating me like a six-year-old, and it isn’t even any of your damn business. Alan’s my husband, and you’re just jealous because he came back and yours didn’t. What’s the matter? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

  “For God’s sake,” sighed Thea, frustrated by her daughter’s hopelessly misguided loyalty. “Of course I want you to be happy. That’s why I came here, to try and make you see sense.”

  “Well, let me tell you what would make me happy,” yelled Janey, trembling all over and clutching the door handle for support. “You leaving. Because I won’t be bullied, and I won’t stand here and listen to another word of this garbage. You’re interfering with my life, and I don’t need it. I don’t need you either,” she concluded with intentional cruelty. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and just get out of here now?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  After a late lunch, Mimi walked with Guy around the garden. Ahead of them, Josh and Ella were spinning around like tops in a race to see who could make themselves dizziest and fall over in the most spectacular fashion. Within seconds, her arms flailing and her legs buckling drunkenly beneath her, Ella staggered sideways into a flower bed.

  “Masochistic little sods,” said Mimi fondly as Ella let out a scream of delight and Josh, not to be outdone, careered head first into a mass of overgrown rhododendrons. “They’ll keep going until they feel sick, then run to you for sympathy.”

  “If anyone needs sympathy, it’s me.” Pausing for a moment, Guy took a photograph of Ella as she emerged from the flower bed. “Nothing seems to be going according to plan at the moment. God knows what’s going to happen next,” he added, adjusting the shutter speed and taking aim once more, “but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.”

  Poor Guy. Mimi, who had heard all about Alan Sinclair’s return ove
r lunch, tucked a companionable arm through his. “Ah, but that’s the thing about masochism,” she said with the air of one who knows. “We might grow up, but that doesn’t mean we automatically grow out of it. Look at me,” she exclaimed, gesturing toward her hips. “I wasted ten years of my life trying to diet! All that miserable calorie counting and jumping on scales, and what did it achieve? I’d lose ten pounds, gain ten pounds, and bore everybody rigid into the bargain… My God, was there ever anything more pointless? I was miserable, darling…a slave to fashion. Giving up dieting and saying to hell with size 8 was the best decision of my entire life!”

  Since Mimi was currently wearing a pink mohair cardigan trimmed with sequins, a mauve organza blouse, and a blue-and-white gingham skirt, it was hard to imagine her ever having been a slave to fashion.

  Thoroughly mystified, Guy responded with a cautious nod. “I see.”

  “And it’s the same with Janey,” she continued triumphantly. “She might think she’s hooked on this wretched husband of hers, but all he is, really, is a habit she hasn’t broken. You have to be patient, darling. Given time, she’ll come to her senses and realize she can do without him after all. Mind you, I bet you wish now you’d made your move a bit earlier,” she added with a smug, I-told-you-so smile. “She would have had to think twice then, wouldn’t she, before rushing off without so much as a backward glance? In that respect, I’m afraid you have only yourself to blame.”

  “Really.” Guy struggled to keep a straight face. “Well, this is all very interesting, but I’m afraid you’re on completely the wrong track. Janey’s a friend, nothing more. She’s a very nice girl, but that’s as far as it goes. She just isn’t my type. When I said I didn’t know what was going to happen next,” he explained, “I was referring to Maxine. If this new affair of hers turns out to be more than a nine days’ wonder, it’s going to mean trouble for me. Before long, she’ll be wanting to move in with Bruno Parry-Brent, and I’ll have to start looking for a new nanny.”